leave marks on our bones (we'll leave scars on your minds)
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: A history and anthology of the members of the Black family, dating from the earliest known members. The intricately designed web of blood of purity isn't quite as pure as they would like people to know. Warnings for violence, triggering content, etc - will warn specifics in each chapter. Chapters can be read as standalone, but better to read chronologically.
1. A New Life (Phoebe)

**A.N:** Thank you to Laura (Someone aka Me) and Bex (DobbyRocksSocks) for beta-ing!

This story will be a more detailed rewrite of the Black Family history I started in the fic "The Widow's Web".

Any prompts are at the bottom.

* * *

 **i  
** **A New Life**

* * *

 _Phoebe Black_

 _Born: 1812, Died: 1882_

 _Parents: Oberon and Lyra Black_

 _Siblings: Licorus, Hesper, Eduardus Limette, Alexia Walkin_

* * *

 **oOo**

1826

Lyra Black smiled as she brushed her daughter's hair in long, even strokes, and Phoebe watched her mother in the mirror that they sat in front of. It was a daily ritual for Lyra to come to Phoebe's bedroom and brush her hair by the dressing table—and Phoebe knew that the action was more to benefit Lyra than herself.

Now that Phoebe was fourteen and had been at Hogwarts for the past few years, her mother had to wait until the holidays to continue her traditions. After she had finished combing her hair, she placed her hands on Phoebe's shoulders and looked at her daughter through the mirror. Phoebe's bright blue eyes met her mother's dark opaque ones, and Lyra beamed. "You're the most beautiful girl who ever lived, Phoebe," she said softly, and Phoebe thought of her two sisters, who her mother never spoke of in such high standards. "That's why I gave you your name. I knew you would be a handsome woman, and you will make a glorious wife one day."

"What about Hesper and Alexia Walkin?" Phoebe asked quietly, her cheeks reddening. The compliments her mother showered her with always made her uncomfortable, especially when she was so terse and unkind to her other children.

Her mother's smile faltered. "Hesper and Alexia have their own talents," she said slowly, though she sounded unconvinced. "Now, it's time for bed."

Of course, Phoebe thought. Her mother would rather usher Phoebe to bed than speak kindly about her sisters. She allowed Lyra to tuck her firmly into her bedsheets and press a powdery kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Mother," Phoebe murmured, as Lyra left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Once Phoebe was plunged into darkness, she was able to be alone with her thoughts. She did feel somewhat sorry for her two sisters, who didn't receive the same amount of attention that Phoebe did, but at the same time, she envied them. Phoebe couldn't remember a day when she had been home at Grimmauld Place when her mother hadn't coddled her. It had been a relief when her father, Oberon, agreed to let her go to Hogwarts when she turned eleven.

She loved her mother, but Lyra was a constant, painful reminder of everything that Phoebe didn't want to be. Lyra praised her for her beauty and good-looks, something that Phoebe despised about herself. She didn't want attention for being a girl with handsome features and long, pretty hair. Lyra made her wear figure-shaping corsets under petticoats and dresses with elaborate ruffles and lace, and it just felt wrong to Phoebe.

When Phoebe was forced to spend sunny days indoors with her sisters and mother during the holidays, learning how to correctly prepare an olive or practicing a dainty walk with a heavy book balanced on her head, Phoebe couldn't help but gaze out of the window and into the garden. Licorus and Eduardus were allowed to spend their school holidays playing on their broomsticks, circling each other in the sky with the wind whipping through their hair. Oberon and Lyra would _never_ allow Phoebe to ride a broomstick—though, she had secretly been getting a lot of practice in during her years at Hogwarts. She smiled as she thought of school. The castle of Hogwarts really was the key to her future; the one place where she would be able to achieve something great.

Phoebe closed her eyes, thankful that it was only the Easter holidays. Soon, she would be able to go back to school, and return to the life she had begun to see as normal—away from her mother's suffocating nature. The image of the bright night sky enchanted on the ceiling of the Great Hall danced behind Phoebe's eyelids as she sank into a slumber.

oOo

The sound of someone humming softly stirred Phoebe from her sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open and she focused on a pale, dark-haired figure by the side of her bed.

"Alexia," Phoebe murmured, as her sisters features swam into view. Alexia, like Phoebe, had long, pin-straight black hair and chalky skin, but unlike Phoebe, her wide eyes were the same charcoal colour as their mother's. "What are you doing in here? It's late."

"Eyes," Alexia whispered. "Blue, blue eyes."

Phoebe rolled her own eyes at Alexia's words and threw an arm over her face. "Alexia Walkin, you have to stop with this obsession. If Father allows you to go to Hogwarts, people will think you're completely crazy."

Alexia frowned, and Phoebe peeked through the crook of her elbow at her little sister. She seemed confused, standing there with her hands behind her back, a strange look in her eyes. While Phoebe did feel an amount of pity for her strange sister, she couldn't bring herself to show much interest in _why_ Alexia Walkin acted so unusual. She had her own issues to deal with—and besides, Eduardus did enough worrying about Alexia for the whole family.

"Eyes." Alexia's hands shifted behind her back.

"What have you got there?" Phoebe asked, trying to peer around her. Alexia brought her hands to her front, holding out the object she had been hiding. An ornate silver melon baller, which Lyra generally only used when she was hosting particularly important guests. "What on earth are you doing with that? This is hardly the time for making melon balls. Go put it away before Mother catches you with it."

"Eyes."

"For heaven's sake!" Phoebe made to sit up and push her sister out of her bedroom, but before she could, Alexia used her palm to push Phoebe back down into the bed, with a strange force that couldn't be Alexia's strength alone. When Phoebe tried to struggle against her, it was like pushing back against a brick wall. "How are you doing this?" Phoebe gasped, straining against her. Alexia was too young to know any spells, so it must have been an occurrence of accidental magic.

"Eyes!" Alexia raised her free hand with the melon baller, and brought it close to Phoebe's face.

"What are you doing?!" screamed Phoebe, but it was too late. The cold metal pressed against her left eyelid, and Alexia applied the same amount of pressure that she was using to affix Phoebe to her bed. Her eyelid slid behind the baller, and the metal cup secured itself around the flush sphere of her eyeball. Alexia rotated it swiftly, as though she'd done this a thousand times before, and something snapped behind Phoebe's eye.

Her screams rang out into the night, fading with her consciousness as everything went black.

oOo

It was several weeks before Phoebe woke up again. She opened her eyes slowly and carefully, cringing a little as her eyelids broke apart from a layer of sleep.

She was still in her bedroom, and her mother and Hesper were sitting close to her bed. "Come a little closer, darling," Lyra said, leaning forward. Phoebe struggled into a sitting position, moving closer to her mother. "Hmm," murmured Lyra. "They're a little brighter than normal, but no one will notice. Hesper, the mirror."

Hesper nodded and held up a hand mirror to Phoebe's face. A pair of electric blue irises gazed back at her, set in bright white orbs. They looked glassy and shiny, but at least they were there, instead of a pair of empty sockets.

"Why did she do this to me?" Phoebe whispered, her stare flickering between her mother and sister. "I've never done anything to harm her."

"Don't worry about Alexia Walkin anymore, sweetheart," Lyra insisted. "Her life of derangement and illness has come to an end."

"She's... _dead?"_ Phoebe's eyes widened. She was angry that her sister had maimed her like this, but she didn't want her _dead_. It was clear to anyone who knew her that Alexia was deeply demented and unwell. "What happened?"

"It was Eduardus Limette," Lyra said firmly. "He suffocated Alexia in her bed shortly after she attacked you."

Lyra would say no more on the matter.

oOo

Phoebe was ecstatic when her mother finally allowed her to return back to Hogwarts.

With her return to school came the return of her confidence. No one had to know about what happened to her eyes—Lyra had spun an elaborate tale of Dragon Pox, and while some people commented on the brightness of Phoebe's eyes, she assured anyone who noticed that it was just a reaction to the illness. She went back to soaring through the Hogwarts grounds on her broomstick with the other boys on the Slytherin Quidditch Team, laughing with her friends at her mealtimes, and learning magic during lessons.

She realised, when she was in the air with the wind blowing through her hair and stinging her eyes, that this was where she belonged. Among those whom she belonged with.

Her change started off small. She swapped her school skirts for trousers, being the first female to make such a choice. No one questioned her, and that only made Phoebe feel more confident.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she hated the ample lumps and curves of her female physique. In her mind, she was trying to fit in with her male friends, and the reminders of her femininity only brought her down.

So, using bandages, she wrapped her bosom tightly, binding it flat to her chest. It was uncomfortable, but when looked at her reflection afterwards, she couldn't be happier.

The only thing that was left to deal with was her hair. The long black hair that her mother had groomed meticulously for as long as Phoebe could remember. It would break Lyra's heart if something were to happen to her hair.

As Phoebe held a pair of iron scissors to her ponytail, her mother's reflection burned back through the mirror at her. "It's not your decision," Phoebe said firmly. "It's my hair." She clamped the scissors down on her hair, cutting each lock away until there wasn't much left. When she was done, her hair hung in uneven tufts around her ears and at the nape of her neck. She beamed at her reflection, feeling lighter than she ever had in her life.

oOo

Phoebe landed gracefully in the back garden of Grimmauld Place at the start of the summer holidays, and let herself into the house. Lyra was standing in the kitchen, watching the clock idly. She flinched when Phoebe came through the door.

"Phoebe!" she gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. "What are you doing here so early? I thought the carriages bringing the girls home from Hogwarts didn't arrive in London until six-thirty."

"I didn't want to ride in those old carriages anymore, Mother," Phoebe replied. "The professors at school have assured us that the train will be working next year, so I thought I would give myself one last opportunity to fly home from school by myself."

"Put that broomstick away," Lyra hissed. "If your father realises that you have _ridden that thing from Scotland_ , he will have you hanged."

"Don't be dramatic, Mother," Phoebe sighed, and made to move past Lyra so that she could head up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Aren't you going to take your outdoor clothes of before you go upstairs?" Lyra asked, reaching for Phoebe's flying hat. Phoebe tried to duck out of the way, but Lyra was too quick. She snatched the quilted cap away from Phoebe's head, and choked back a scream at what was underneath.

Phoebe tried to cover her head with her hands, but it was too late. "Mother, I can explain."

" _What on earth have you done?!"_ Lyra screeched.

"I cut it," Phoebe explained hurriedly. "It was getting in the way during Quidditch practice, and it was just too much upke—"

" _Quidditch?!"_ Lyra threw her hands up in the air. "I knew it was a dreadful idea to send you to that school. Your father didn't want to allow it. Hesper was never given the opportunity, so why should you? That's what he said. But I convinced him to let you, because you're so smart and beautiful and intelligent." Lyra collapsed into tears. "What have you done to yourself, my girl?" She sank to the kitchen floor.

Phoebe knelt down in front of her mother, gripping her wrists. "Mother, this will be difficult for you to understand...it's still difficult for me to understand."

Lyra looked up at her daughter with watery eyes. "Understand _what?"_

"I'm not your girl," Phoebe spoke in a rush of words. "I've never been your girl. I've never—I will never be—anyone's girl."

"You're speaking in riddles."

"I'm not a girl!" Phoebe almost shouted. "I mean...I know I am…but I'm not...in here," she touched the side of her head.

"Then what are you?" Lyra's voice had become low and terse—it was the same voice she reserved for her other children.

"I'm...I'm…" Phoebe took a deep breath. Despite beginning to accept herself for who she was, she still hadn't admitted it. "I'm a boy."

oOo

It had only taken Lyra a few swift moves to part Phoebe from her wand and have her sent up to the attic.

"Mother," Phoebe begged as Lyra forced Phoebe to the back of the dusty attic room while she conjured up a small bed and other basic necessities. "This is madness. What are you _thinking?"_

"Your father will have you disowned or killed for this," Lyra muttered. "I have lost two children already, all in order to protect _you_ , because I loved you the most."

"You loved me more than the others?" Phoebe knew Lyra favoured her over her other children, but she never thought that Lyra actually _loved_ Phoebe more than her siblings.

"Of course I did!" hissed Lyra. "And this is how you repay my love. By dressing up as a clown and making a show of me."

"This is who I am!" moaned Phoebe. "Mother, _please_."

"I will not lose you, Phoebe." Lyra held out her wand and moved back towards the attic trapdoor. "I will protect this attic with enchantments to keep your father from discovering you. Until you can put this nonsense behind you and go back to normal, you will remain here." She backed down the ladder, closing the trapdoor firmly behind her.

Phoebe scurried over to the trapdoor as soon as Lyra was gone, but it was pointless. No matter how hard she pulled the handle, the door didn't budge. She was locked in.

 _She was locked in._

oOo

1829

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, and Phoebe never once stopped believing that she would escape from her confinement to the attic. She knew that there was a future outside of this house for her, even if it meant that she had to turn away from the magic world.

She had a lot of time to think about that, and wondered if it would be all that bad. Her parents and ancestors had always used magic to their advantage to better themselves or cause harm to people they didn't like. When Phoebe touched her eyelids, she could feel the magic coursing through the replacement eyeballs that her mother had planted there. Of course, magic had saved her sight and made her able to see again, but it was magic that had made Alexia Walkin deranged. Not magic exactly, but the determination to make the Black family line as pure and magical as it could be. Oberon and Lyra were cousins, their ancestors had been cousins, and in some cases, siblings. It was clear that keeping their blood so pure had caused problems down the line.

Phoebe had been raised to believe that Muggles were simple and clueless, merely a less important counterpart to their magical kin. But the Muggles Phoebe had seen in London and in the neighbourhood seemed happy, and most importantly, free.

She longed for that kind of freedom more than anything.

The months turned into years, and Phoebe remained determined not to let Lyra break her spirit. It had taken long enough for her to finally accept who she really was, and even longer to admit it. It would take a lot more than locking her in an attic to make Phoebe go back to being a girl.

"I hope you enjoyed your dinner," Lyra said stoically as she gathered up the empty dishes and cutlery. Phoebe leaned back against the attic wall as Lyra concentrated on making the dishes float down the ladder behind her. She closed the trapdoor behind her, and Phoebe waited for the telltale click of the door locking.

She waited, and it didn't come.

Curious, Phoebe edged towards the trapdoor and twisted the handle tentatively. It turned, and Phoebe knew that if she lifted the door, it would open. _Lyra had forgotten to lock the door._

It had taken three years, but she had finally made a mistake. Phoebe let go of the handle and shuffled back to her position against the wall. She had to be careful with this opportunity. If she ruined it, Lyra would be sure not to make any such mistake again.

oOo

Phoebe counted down the minutes to each hour, until she was sure that it was past midnight. It was hard to tell without a clock or a watch, but Lyra had made sure dinner was prepared for five 'o' clock every evening for as long as Phoebe could remember, so it was easy enough to work out the time.

It seemed like an eternity before Phoebe finally made a move towards the trapdoor. She turned the handle carefully and pulled the door up, basking momentarily in the air below the attic that wasn't musty and stale. Being as quiet and mindful as she could, Phoebe slid the ladder to the hallway below.

She slipped down the ladder and moved through the dark house silently, making sure she held her breath as she passed her parent's bedroom. Once she was downstairs, and close to the front door, the air seemed to come more naturally to her lungs.

As Lyra was being careful not to alert Oberon to anything unnatural, she hadn't taken any extra precautions to keep the door magically locked, so it was just bolted with the usual latch. Phoebe unlocked it greedily and burst out into the street, breathing in the fresh air gratefully.

She hadn't thought to stop and look for her wand or broomstick, but in that moment, she didn't care. Phoebe ran into the street without closing the door behind her. She didn't stop at the park, or at the Muggle roads ahead of that.

As she was running wildly through the dark roads, she suddenly crashed headlong into another person. When they distangled themselves from each other, Phoebe realised that she was looking down at a familiar face. _"Eduardus?"_

He was older and his face was wearier, but it was definitely Eduardus. "Phoebe?" He pulled her to her feet, clutching her shoulders. "What are you doing running through the roads in the middle of the night?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" Phoebe gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Eduardus held up a leather briefcase. "I work night shifts for a Muggle law firm near here. It's a long story."

"Did you kill Alexia Walkin?" Phoebe suddenly asked, ignoring the statement about the law firm. Eduardus's face paled, and Phoebe automatically regretted the question. "I'm sorry. Of course you didn't."

"She got to you too, didn't she?" Eduardus asked softly. "Our mother." Phoebe looked at her feet, but her brother tilted her chin upwards. "Don't worry. You can come and stay with me. You'll be safe."

"I'll be safe," Phoebe repeated. "I'm finally free." She could see the future ahead of her clearly, much more clearly than she had done for a long time.

"Of course you are, Phoebe."

"No," Phoebe said suddenly. "No, it's not Phoebe. My name isn't Phoebe anymore, and I'm not your sister," she took a breath. "My name is Phillip. I'm your brother."

Eduardus looked momentarily surprised, but he smiled nonetheless. "Well done, Phillip. Let me take you home."

* * *

 **A.N:** I'd just like to point out, that it was quite difficult to remain true to the 1800s era here when writing about a trans character. I chose to avoid changing Phoebe's pronouns to he/him and using his male name until the end, because I felt that before was a transitioning period for him, and due to the era, I wouldn't imagine he would know much about what turmoil was going on within him.

Once he felt free from Lyra and the restrictions of his family, he felt free to accept himself for who he truly was :)

 **Written For:**

\- Assignment #4 - Muggle Music/Task #9: Write about someone looking forward to the future.

\- Writing Club: Amber's Attic - Phoebe Black

\- 365 Prompts: (title) A New Life

\- Serpent Day: Eyelash viper - (dialogue) "Come a little closer, darling."

 **Word Count:** 3,378


	2. Into Your Icy Blue (Licorus)

**A.N:** Thanks to Bex (DobbyRocksSocks) and my trash hoe twin (Cheeky Slytherin Lass) for beta-ing!

Any prompts are at the bottom.

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 **ii  
** **Into Your Icy Blue**

 _Licorus Black_

 _Born: 1808, Died: 1872_

 _Parents: Oberon and Lyra Black_

 _Siblings: Hesper, Eduardus Limette, Phoebe, Alexia Walkin_

 _Wife: Magenta Black née Tripe_

 _Children: Misapinoa, Arcturus I, Cygnus I_

* * *

1819

Licorus Black met Xavier Rastrick Junior on the rowboat as they sailed across the Black Lake to Hogwarts.

Even though he didn't know Xavier yet, Licorus knew that he was everything he wanted to be. Licorus had grown up in a life of darkness, rules and regimes, harsh traditions and harsher parents. Although he was the pride and joy of his parents, and was treated much better than the majority of his siblings, the demons of his upbringing were still reflected in his appearance. His dark eyes were generally downcast, the corners of his mouth drooping, and the faint grooves of frown lines already appearing in his pale forehead.

Xavier, on the other hand, seemed to be his polar opposite. He had a head of curly, white-blonde hair, pale blue eyes that glowed with excitement and happiness as he looked up at the castle they were sailing towards, his hands gripping the edge of the boat. He was wearing his new Hogwarts robes, though he had a silver, top-hat shaped brooch pinned to his chest, and wore a rainbow striped scarf wound around his neck.

Licorus was almost envious of the scarf. His mother would never have let him wear something so appallingly bright. She would be offended by such a garment.

Xavier's eyes rolled towards Licorus, as though he could sense that he was being stared at. "Aren't you excited? We're going to _Hogwarts!_ Haven't you been looking forward to this moment for your entire life?"

Licorus took a moment to consider the question. He hadn't realised that it was expected of him to be excited to start school. The only thing that had really made him look forward to Hogwarts was the sense of freedom he might gain. Otherwise, any talk about the school was only a cause of stress within his family.

Since he received his letter, he'd not been able to truly look forward to starting school while he was with his twin sister, Hesper. They both were sent letters, but their father had snatched Hesper's out of her hand before she even had a chance to open the envelope. She wasn't going to be going to Hogwarts with her brother.

"Yes, I'm excited." His response was monotonous, and Xavier quirked his eyebrow suggested that he didn't really believe Licorus.

oOo

When Christmas came around, Licorus didn't really want to go home. He'd made fast friends with Xavier Rastrick, who had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Even though Licorus himself had been sorted into Slytherin, the pair still remained great friends.

Perhaps if Xavier wasn't going home for Christmas, Licorus would find an excuse to stay at Hogwarts too. But he didn't want to be forced to hang around with the other Slytherin boys that were staying at school for the holidays, so he glumly packed his bags and made the journey home.

His father, Oberon, was the one to meet Licorus in London to take him back home to Grimmauld Place. He remained quiet during the journey, and steered Licorus into his study once they arrived home. Licorus didn't even get a chance to unpack his bag or greet his mother.

Oberon put a pipe in his mouth and lit the bowl with his wand. He took a deep inhale on the tobacco before speaking to Licorus. "Byron Lestrange tells me that you haven't tried to interact with his son during your time so far at Hogwarts, despite being in the same House and living in the same dormitory with him." He paused to blow out a plume of smoke. "The eldest Malfoy has also reported to his parents that you spend most of your free time with someone from the house of _Hufflepuff._ "

"Being in Hufflepuff doesn't make him unworthy of being my friend, Father," Licorus replied. "He's a Pureblood, like us."

"And who is this friend? What is his name?" Oberon narrowed his eyes. "Do we know his family?"

Licorus took a breath. "His name is Xavier Rastrick. Xavier Rastrick Junior."

Oberon leaned back in his chair and sniggered cruelly.

"Am I amusing you, Father?" Licorus felt anger boiling in the pit of his stomach as he watched his father find humour in his friendship with Xavier.

"Extremely so. You see, I _do_ know of Xavier Rastrick. His father had the same name. He was a frightful fellow who dressed in ridiculous clothes, and spent far too much time performing magic tricks for Muggles. They thought he was entertaining."

Licorus's heart sank. Xavier hadn't told him about what his father did in his free time, but Licorus knew if it had anything to do with Muggles, Oberon would make sure he was to have nothing to do with him.

"He had his child out of wedlock to a prostitute, who left the bastard with him once she gave birth. He was much too old to be looking after a baby, so I imagine I'm right in thinking that the young Xavier isn't a very well rounded young boy." Oberon's eyes glittered. "He definitely isn't the right kind of student that you should call your _friend_."

Licorus said no more. There was no point in arguing with his father, but there was no way he was going to listen to him.

oOo

1824

By the time Licorus was in his fifth year at Hogwarts, his father had stopped trying to make him stop interacting with Xavier Rastrick. Licorus knew that Oberon wouldn't do anything drastic to prevent the friendship—after all, Licorus had been raised as Oberon's prodigy, and he wouldn't see that ruined. In a long letter to Licorus during his third year, Oberon had told him that he fully expected this 'phase in his life' to evaporate by the time he was old enough to understand that family and blood were more important than friends.

Licorus paid little mind to his father's ramblings about loyalty and purity. He'd listened to it enough while he was growing up, and it always equated to the same conclusion: one day, Licorus would be married to a woman who had been carefully selected for him, someone with good, pure blood, and wide hips to ensure that she could provide heirs to carry on the Black lineage. The hips were particularly important to Oberon, it seemed.

But Licorus wasn't interested in hips—especially not those that belonged to any female. It embarrassed him to think about, but he'd been spending far too much time thinking about his best friend as of late. At first, he put it down to the irrational thoughts that came with the changing of his body as he transitioned into a young man. But when the thoughts didn't go away, Licorus began to worry about his personality.

' _Why am I not interested in girls?'_ he asked himself during the night, forcing himself to imagine the pretty girls of his year group. Most of them had plump lips, doe-like eyes and shiny hair. Those were the kind of things that the other boys whispered about to each other, late at night in the dormitory. If it weren't for overhearing those conversations, Licorus probably wouldn't have noticed the physical aspects of the girls.

He did notice the physical aspects of _someone,_ though. And he wished every day that they didn't belong to his best, only friend.

Licorus used to find Xavier's personality humorous and bright, but now he felt much different about it. When Xavier smiled, Licorus felt a warmth pooling in his stomach, and when he laughed, Licorus wanted to put his mouth on Xavier's; as if to draw the joy out of him and into his own melancholy body. If their arms or hands brushed while they were studying together, Licorus felt sparks dancing between their flesh, and his pores rose up into gooseflesh. He realised that there was more he wanted to do with Xavier than just study and laugh and joke with him—he wanted to hold his hand, walk with him around the lake, press his lips to every smooth, gorgeous expanse of his pale skin. He had truly fallen in love with his best friend, and there was nothing he could do to stop the rush of emotions.

Even if Licorus was able to go against his family traditions and laws about who he should spend the rest of his life with, he was sure Xavier wouldn't return his affections. Like the other boys in his year, he spent a lot of time discussing the appearances of the girls, particularly lately. With the way Xavier spoke about them, Licorus figured that he wasn't the right gender to gain his affections.

oOo

It was almost Licorus's birthday when he received the letter from his father; the letter he'd been dreading for years.

As soon as he read the first line, he ran out of the Great Hall, and didn't stop running until he reached the calm, glassy smoothness of the Black Lake. Once he was by the shore, he sank to his knees and gave in to the lump in his throat, letting the tears he had been holding back flow down his cheeks.

It only took a few minutes for Xavier to catch up with him. When he placed his hand on Licorus's shoulder, Licorus clenched his fist in the grass by his knees. "Hey," Xavier murmured. "You're crushing the daisies." Licorus relaxed his hands, releasing the daisy that was trapped between his fingers. "What happened in there?"

Licorus balled up the parchment in his hands, his dark eyes flashing angrily. "My father has wonderful news," he hissed, his voice scathing. "He has found me a _wife_. I'm to be married in the summer."

"You're not even sixteen yet," Xavier whispered, his eyes wide. "Surely your father can't force you to be married before you're old enough?"

"You don't understand my father," replied Licorus. "If I go against his wishes…" he paused, shuddering. "I don't want to think about what he will do to me; what would become of me. I have far too many secrets from him already."

"Secrets?"

"Well, just one," Licorus admitted. "Not that I care to discuss it right now."

"We're best friends, aren't we?" Xavier said with a smile, and Licorus felt the familiar burning in his midsection. "Best friends are supposed to tell each other _all_ of their secrets."

"I do not think you really wish to hear my secret."

"I think I do," Xavier poked Licorus in the waist playfully. "And besides—if you have to get married in the summer, there's a good chance your father won't let you come back to Hogwarts. I might not get to see you again, so this could be your only chance to reveal all your secrets."

 _He might not get to see Xavier again._ It was a reality that Licorus hadn't really thought about. Once Licorus was married, Oberon would see him as a man, and he would be expected to start fulfilling his role as heir to the Black family. If Oberon was able to set Licorus up with a job in the Ministry like he had always planned, he wouldn't see the point in sending his son back to school.

"You're right," Licorus murmured, feeling the lump rising in his throat again. Xavier sat down beside him in front of the lake. "I don't know how I should say this, Xavier."

Xavier looked at him expectantly, his blue eyes inquisitive. Licorus adored the curiosity in those bright irises, and he dreaded the thought of those eyes gazing at him with disgust.

But he had to be honest.

"I'm in love with you."

Once the words were ripped from Licorus's throat, a silence hung between them. Licorus turned his eyes the grass as he left the confession in the air for Xavier to process.

"I'm sorry. I wish I didn't feel like this. I know that you couldn't possibly have the same feelings for me, but I just want you to know that I would never expect you to. I am beyond happy to have called you my friend." Licorus dared to peer back up at Xavier after speaking, and was relieved to find that his friend's face wasn't painted with revulsion. "Please, say something…"

Xavier opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead he moved forwards and pressed his mouth softly to Licorus's.

Licorus was too shocked to react, but as Xavier's hand crept around to cup his jaw, his eyes slipped closed and he gently kissed his friend back, their mouths moving together slowly, if not a little awkwardly. Their arms circled around each other, clasping each other as close as they could to enjoy the private, solitary moment beside the lake.

When Xavier pulled away, his smile was brighter than Licorus had ever seen before. "I have felt the same about you for years."

Licorus was astounded. "But you always talk so fondly of the girls?"

Xavier's smile melted into a smirk. "I couldn't lie to you, Licorus. I do find them just as attractive as I find men. But I have only been in love with you."

The words made Licorus's stomach swirl in his stomach, and although it was the greatest news he had ever heard, there wasn't anything he could do. His parents would _never_ allow such a despicable relationship to happen.

It made his heart crack to think about it, but he had to choose between his life, and his love.

oOo

It had probably been a bad idea, to invite Xavier to the wedding.

In all honesty, Licorus hadn't expected him to come. In fact, he didn't expect Oberon to allow him to send the invitation out. But Oberon was strangely open to the idea—Licorus supposed that it had something to do with Oberon wanting to prove to Xavier that he could no longer be friends with Licorus.

If Oberon knew just how close Licorus and Xavier had become, there was no way he'd be allowed within an inch of the ceremony.

Licorus saw Xavier straight away when he took a seat at the front of the row of pews. He was wearing casual clothes, and his top-hat brooch was gleaming on the front of his robes. His eyes burned into Licorus's, and as Licorus took the hands of his bride, he hated himself for his choice.

Magenta Tripe was barely fourteen, and her hands shivered in his. He lifted the veil covering her face, and realised just how young she was. Her face was still round and childishly chubby, and the dress she was wearing was baggy in the chest and hips. This was cruel; this wasn't right.

But as Oberon's onyx gaze settled on Licorus, he remembered his place. _'I have no choice,'_ he told himself, and turned his eyes back to Xavier as he pressed a chaste kiss to Magenta's cheek, sealing their marriage. He hoped Xavier could read his apology from his lingering gaze.

He had no choice.

 _End_

* * *

 **Written For:**

\- Assignment #5, Muggle Art Task #1: Task 1: Write about a private and poignant moment between lovers

\- Writing Club/The Little Mermaid: Ariel - write about being forced to choose between Family and Love.

\- Writing Club/Days of the Month: True Confessions Day - Write about someone confessing something.

\- Library Lovers/The Sweetest Taboo by Carole Matthews: (Plot Point) Thinking you're the wrong gender for your crush, (Plot Point) Falling in love with your best friend, (word) Gorgeous

\- 365 Prompts: (plant/flower) Daisy

\- Insane House Challenge (Ravenclaw Entry): Dialogue - "Am I amusing you, [insert name]?"

 **Word Count:** 2,494


	3. Details in the Fabric (Magenta)

**A.N:** Thanks to Trash Twin (Cheeky Slytherin Lass) for beta-ing. Love ya!

* * *

 **iii  
** **Details in the Fabric**

 _Magenta Black née Tripe_

 _Born: 1809_

 _Husband: Licorus Black_

 _Children: Misapinoa, Arcturus I, Cygnus I_

* * *

1826

Two years of marriage passed with Licorus before he actually crawled into the marital bed.

He and Magenta were both still young. Licorus would be seventeen in a few months time, and Magenta was on the cusp of sixteen. Her mother insisted that she was a woman now; her face was angled and her jawline was sharp, and her hair had been cut into a style that was fashionable amongst the upper class women in London.

The house elves helped to lace her in tight corsets every morning, to draw in her waist and flatter her figure, but it didn't make any difference to Licorus. No matter how hard she tried to gain his affection and attention, his eyes remained as steely and dark as they had the day they exchanged vows.

"I don't know why I must continue dressing this way," she told the house elves absently when they helped her dress. "He doesn't care."

It was the curse that was placed on women in arranged marriages, her mother had told her. Very rarely did love truly spark between arrangements, but if she persevered, Licorus would surely grow to love her.

But Magenta didn't really care for her mother's assurances. She didn't really care if Licorus _did_ love her—she just wanted to do right by her family. Oberon Black had many potential brides to pick from for his son, but he had taken a chance on Magenta, and now the Tripe family had good connections to the Black family, because of their joining in holy matrimony.

Magenta assumed that Licorus would also soon realise that he had to do right by his family, but she was still surprised when one night, he knocked on the door to the bedroom they were supposed to share. Since they had been married, Licorus had insisted that he and Magenta were far too young to sleep in the same bed, and he had allowed Magenta to take up residence in the master bedroom, while he relocated to a smaller one at the other side of the house.

Licorus entered the bedroom without waiting for Magenta to let him in, and she could smell the whiskey on his breath before he crossed the threshold. She was sitting up in bed, reading a book by the light of a candle, and she looked over at him. "Darling, are you drunk?"

"Why do you insist on using these pet names, Magenta?" Licorus scathed. He closed the door behind him, and sat down heavily on the end of the bed. His hair was uncut and too long, the straight, dark locks hanging in his face, and the frown lines in his forehead were deeper, making him look older than his sixteen years. He wore a scarf around his neck—an ugly, knitted concoction in many different, clashing colours. Magenta wondered absently where he had procured such an awful piece of clothing; but he did spend many days and evenings away from Grimmauld Place, so he could have gotten it anywhere.

She ignored his question and reached out for the scarf. "What is this dreadful thing you are wearing?"

Licorus snatched it away from her outstretched hands, and glared at his wife. "It is a scarf, what do you think?" He unwrapped the garment from his neck, and folded it gently in his hands—Magenta had never seen him handle something so carefully.

"I'm sorry," she murmured quietly, and she leaned back against the headboard. "Why do you come to me at this hour, Licorus?"

Licorus exhaled a breath. "I saw our fathers today. My father called an important meeting between the three of us." He looked back at Magenta, though his eyes were softer, almost apologetic. "Father thinks we have waited too long to have a child. He was willing to allow the wait while we were still young, and you were not yet fully grown, but he insists that you are a woman now," he paused, his voice sounding thing. "And I am a man. And we have a duty to fulfill."

Magenta knew all about that duty. Her mother had been instilling it into her since she was old enough to understand. She closed her book and placed it on the side table. "And...are you ready to fulfill that duty?"

"I have no choice." Licorus placed his head in his hands, and ran his long fingers through his hair.

Magenta leaned forward again and touched his arm gently, and he flinched at the contact. He stood up, walking around the bed to blow out the candle on the side table, and only when the bedroom lapsed into darkness did he sink down onto the bed beside his wife.

She lay on her back, waiting expectantly, listening to the throb of her heartbeat and the shallow breathing coming from Licorus. After what felt like an eternity, he sat up in bed and removed his clothes. Magenta didn't feel confident enough to do the same.

When he moved to lay on top of her, she could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. He pulled the blankets over the pair of them, and pushed the skirt of Magenta's nightdress up to her stomach. She felt exposed and embarrassed, and tried to remind herself that _this was her duty._

"Licorus," she murmured, flinching as his breath warmed her neck. "I am very nervous."

"Please," he whispered, his voice still sounding strangely thick. "Please, don't talk."

She didn't really understand why Licorus was finding it so difficult. Her mother had told her that it was the desire of all man, particularly young men, to find the delights of the flower that lay between a woman's legs.

Those were her words, not Magenta's.

He moved his body against Magenta's awkwardly, keeping his face firmly in the pillow beside her head, and using his hands to steady himself. Nothing happened until Magenta lifted her legs around his waist, and his hips fell forward. There was a sudden pain, and Magenta cried out in shock, but it didn't last long.

She didn't know how long it went on for, but she did as she was told, keeping her mouth firmly closed after her initial yelp. Licorus bucked his lower body slowly and clumsily, and Magenta felt a wetness on her shoulder, as though he was crying, but she didn't dare to ask. After an eternity, Licorus groaned into the fabric of her nightdress. He waited a few moments before pulling away from Magenta. He grabbed his clothes and stood up, rushing out of the bedroom without a backward glance.

oOo

Many weeks passed before Magenta had her first bout of sickness.

When she came out of the lavatory, Lyra Black was standing in the hallway, wearing a strange smile on her bony face. "Were you sick, dear?" she asked, in a falsetto sweet voice that was almost ominous. Her dark eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Magenta nodded nervously, placing a hand on her nauseous stomach. Lyra held out a hand and curled her fingers around Magenta's arm. "Come. We'll have to take you to see the maternity healer."

"Shouldn't I send word to my mother first?" Magenta suggested, though she regretted it when Lyra's smile turned sinister.

"Darling, I am your mother-in-law. That practically makes me your blood mother as well. You may contact her after we have seen the healer." She pulled Magenta through the halls until they reached a lounge. After pushing Magenta onto a loveseat, Lyra conjured some parchment and a quill to a dressing table, and wrote out a quick, shorthand letter.

Within the hour, a stiff-faced woman wearing pale blue robes entered Grimmauld Place as though she came here all the time. "This is Magnolia Avery," Lyra introduced. "The women in her family have been performing maternal check-ups for the Black family for generations."

Magenta didn't know if she really wanted the Avery woman to perform any kind of invasive check on her; with her square jaw and wide, spade-like hands, Magnolia didn't live up to her flowery name. However, she didn't dare to oppose Lyra's wishes, and allowed Magnolia to lay her down on the loveseat and command her to unbutton her robes, ensuring she was naked from the stomach down.

Magenta stared up at the ceiling, focusing on the dusty chandelier. Magnolia Avery's hands were flat and cold as they pressed against her bare stomach, and moved to part her legs as she inspected her invasively.

"Yes," Magnolia finally spoke, allowing Magenta to sit up and cover her modesty. "It seems the young lady is with child."

" _Wonderful_ news," Lyra exclaimed, and she stood to lead Magnolia Avery out of the lounge. Her voice echoed as they wandered through the hallway. "We've been waiting some time for Licorus to consummate the marriage."

Magenta looked down at her flat stomach once she was alone in the room. She had only had to be intimate with Licorus once in order to fall pregnant, and in a way, she was glad. The experience had been so awkward and uncomfortable that she hadn't wanted to rush into doing it again.

A sudden surge of happiness blossomed through her. With this child, she would no longer be alone in this huge old house. With this child, she would have someone.

oOo

Magenta's stomach had swollen by the time Licorus showed an interest in her pregnancy, though it wasn't the kind of interest that Magenta had hoped for. He came into the bedroom that Magenta occupied for the second time since they married, stinking of alcohol and something else, like sweat and shame. She was sewing a quilt for her baby when he let himself into her bedroom, and she placed her project down on the bed.

"Where have you been?" Magenta asked immediately. Licorus had been absent from Grimmauld Place for weeks, and neither Magenta or his parents had heard from him. "I was beginning to grow concerned."

"That's none of your business," Licorus replied swiftly, though he looked almost guilty. "But to cease your concern, I was staying with an old school friend. I had some time free from work, and I hadn't seen him for some months."

Magenta nodded, and didn't reply. She ran her finger across a loose thread in the quilt, making a mental note to tighten it up once Licorus left.

Licorus sat beside her on the bed, and rubbed his thumb across a square of the quilt. "Are you making this for our child?"

Magenta's heart fluttered. He hadn't acknowledged the baby at all so far, let alone refer to it as 'our child'. "Y-yes," she replied softly, not making eye contact with her husband.

"It's beautiful handiwork," he continued, lifting the quilt to admire the threadwork. "Hesper and I used to sew when we were young, before Father realised what I was doing. He put a stop to my joining in once he found out." Licorus appeared sad at the memory, and Magenta placed her hand on top of his.

He pulled away quickly and straightened himself up, clearing his throat, any hint of his vulnerable moment gone. "I came to speak to you." Licorus looked down at his intertwining fingers. "I'm unable to remain here and watch you...grow and swell with the pregnancy. It was difficult enough to cope with you vomiting when you first fell pregnant, but now that you are like this, it's much harder for me."

Magenta's eyes widened. She wanted nothing more than to stand up and scream at Licorus—how could he sit there and tell her that _he_ was finding it difficult? Was _he_ the one who was growing another human being in his body? Was _he_ the one who had to deal with the aches and pains and emotional changes that came with being pregnant?

But she regained her composure. She had been taught from an early age to know her place in her marriage, whoever she married—but those rules became much more important when she married someone from a family like the Black family. "I'm sorry you're struggling so much, dear," she said carefully, the words tasting foreign in her mouth. "What can I do to help?"

"You need to do nothing," Licorus replied. "I have decided to move out of Grimmauld Place until after you have had the baby. Once this pregnancy is over with and we have a child in the flesh, I will return home."

Magenta was taken aback. "You're _leaving?"_ It was true that Licorus had pretty much no input in her pregnancy, and his being away wouldn't make much difference to her wellbeing, but she couldn't deny that his presence didn't give her some comfort. He was the father to her unborn child, and whilever he was at least in the same house as her, that made her feel safe from the other dark things that lurked within Grimmauld Place.

"You only have some months left to go. Mother and Hesper will look after you and make sure you want for nothing, and you are welcome to write to me to keep me updated on the pregnancy."

He was so formal, so precise, and Magenta felt one of those dreadful emotional surges rising within her again. She choked back the tears, however, and nodded. "I understand. Where will you go?"

Once again, a guilty shadow passed across his face, and he averted eye contact with Magenta. "With the same old friend as I've been with for the past few weeks. However, if my father presses you for information on my whereabouts, I must ask you to tell him that you don't know where I am."

Magenta nodded in agreement. "Of course."

Licorus stood up from the bed and walked over to Magenta's side. He looked down at his wife, as though considering what kind of gesture to make. Eventually, he settled by placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head, and left the bedroom promptly.

Magenta threw the quilt across the room as soon as the door closed behind him, and sank back into her pillows, letting her tears spill. How could Licorus abandon her like this, when she was in the most vulnerable position she could ever be in? How could he leave her alone?

A flicker of movement rippled in her lower belly, and Magenta placed her palm across her stomach, feeling her unborn child kick against her hand. The sensation calmed her, and she closed her eyes, imagining her daughter moving around in her womb, reminding Magenta that she wasn't alone.

"I can't wait to meet you, my darling girl," Magenta whispered, clutching her stomach. Lyra had assured Magenta that she was carrying a boy, but Magenta was sure that was just her hope for a male heir speaking. Deep down, Magenta knew that she was having a girl, and she couldn't wait.

"My darling Misapinoa."

* * *

 **Written For:**

\- Mother's Day: Write about someone the moment they find out they are pregnant

\- March Scavenger Hunt: Write about a parent

\- Writing Club/Showtime: Funny Honey - (dialogue) "He doesn't care."

\- Library Lovers/Miranda's Big Mistake by Jill Mansen: (Plot point) Being abandoned whilst pregnant, (Word) sparkle, (Item) Scarf

 **Word Count:** 2,481


	4. Mother Knows Best (Eduardus)

_Dedicated to Amber (Cheeky Slytherin Lass)_

* * *

 **iv  
Mother Knows Best**

* * *

 _Eduardus Limette Black_

 _Born: 1810, Died: 1899_

 _Parents: Oberon and Lyra Black_

 _Siblings: Licorus, Hesper, Phoebe, Alexia Walkin_

* * *

1825

Hesper wiped her brother's damp forehead with a cold compress. "He still has a fever, Mother," she relayed back to Lyra Black quietly. "His throat is still thick, and he's lost a lot of weight."

"I can hear you, sister," Eduardus Limette rasped from the bed. "I feel much better than I did yesterday."

"Liar," Alexia Walkin, the youngest sibling, chuckled from her place on the floor. She had spent most of the time that Eduardus had been sick with consumption sitting by his bed, watching as Hesper and their mother tried to nurse him back to health.

While her tittering and giggling and constant babble of meaningless nonsense did get on Eduardus's nerves, he was willing to allow her to remain beside his sick bed. Alexia Walkin was shunned by the rest of the family due to her strangeness, ignored by their parents and avoided by her siblings—except Eduardus.

Grimmauld Place was quiet, at least. He was sick during the school year, so Licorus and Phoebe were at Hogwarts and their father, Oberon, was busy at the Ministry through the days and well into the evenings.

Lyra spent her days determined to bring Eduardus back to peak health, with her makeshift nursemaid, Hesper, by her side. Hesper seemed to be just happy for the attention, and she milked her role to the best of her ability. Together, she and Lyra mixed potions in the kitchen with herbs that Hesper procured, intent on finding the mixture that would cure Eduardus of his Tuberculosis.

But it was to no avail. None of the potions or mixtures worked, and Eduardus only seemed to grow more sick. His flesh wasted to bone, his skin grew grey and tacky, and his throat gargled with blood and bile.

"I'm at the end of my tether," Lyra announced as she paced Eduardus's bedroom, rubbing her temples. "You have been out of Hogwarts for far too long. People are starting to talk, they are beginning to question my ability as a parent. I will not have this disease ruin my reputation."

"Mother, perhaps we could try the blend with the lavender again," Hesper offered. "That mixture really made a change to his complexion, and—" Hesper was interrupted as Lyra tripped over a book that Alexia was reading on the floor.

"Alexia Walkin!" Lyra shrieked, reaching down to snatch the book away from her youngest daughter. It was a heavy, leather-covered tome, with yellowed pages covered with inked annotations and drawings. "That is an antique! You know you're not allowed in the library. You are far too clumsy to be playing with _books."_

"Alexia likes to read, Mother," Eduardus coughed, hating to see Alexia being scolded. "She isn't playing with them."

"None of you are to play with the books in the antiquity section," Lyra hissed, clutching the book to her chest. She looked down at the pages that Alexia had been looking at, smoothing the thick parchment out with her palm. Her brow furrowed as some of the words caught her eye. "Ritual...mummification...strength…" she murmured, running her finger down the page. "Hesper. Come with me. We need to visit the crypt."

Hesper nodded and scurried after her mother, carefully shutting the bedroom door behind them. Eduardus turned his aching neck towards Alexia Walkin. She was smiling back at him strangely, an odd glint in her dark eyes. "You're going to get much better, Eddie. Much, much better."

oOo

When Lyra and Hesper returned, they were still wearing their outdoor clothes, and Lyra was clutching a small, ornate wooden chest. Eduardus furrowed his brow, trying to get a better look at the box, but Lyra was holding it firmly.

Excitement seemed to buzz from Alexia Walkin. Her breathing had increased rapidly, reminding Eduardus much of an exhausted puppy, and she was staring up at the chest with a maniacal, toothy smile. "What is it, Mother?" Eduardus rasped, struggling to try and sit up in bed. Hesper hurried over to his side and pushed him back down carefully, tucking the blankets firmly around him.

Lyra took a breath. "Hesper and I visited the family crypt." She set the box down at the edge of the bed and splayed her fingers across the lid. "There are many powerful witches and wizards resting down there, but I picked one I know to be _most_ powerful."

"What are you talking about?" Eduardus's voice rose in pitch a little, and he struggled weakly against Hesper.

Lyra started to unlatch the brass buckle. "This are the remains of our ancestor, Camellia Black, a formidable witch who was said to be able to be conjure a live dragon from thin air. There's no one else who will be more suitable to heal you."

"Heal me? Mother!?"

As Lyra lifted the lid carefully, a musty, unrecognisable smell filled the room. Hesper grimaced and Alexia craned her neck to get a better look. Lyra pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes, and gave it a small, wordless wave. A mortar and pestle appeared before her.

"It's an old tradition, Eduardus. Our family have been following it for centuries, though it's use has declined in recent years. This, however, is a desperate occasion."

Eduardus caught a glimpse of a withered skull bones, wrapped in a frayed, dirty fabric. He tried to shout, to scream, anything—but the consumption made his throat burn. Lyra reached into the chest and plucked a piece of bone with her finger and thumb, placing it gently in the mortar. Fear radiated through Eduardus as Lyra used the pestle to grind the bone into a clumpy, dirty-white dust. The grating sound of ceramic against brittle bone made him feel sicker than ever.

"The tradition calls for mummified remains, but unfortunately our ancestors weren't particularly careful about preserving their dead," Lyra continued breezily. "However, Camellia's bones are in immaculate condition, so I'm sure you will absorb her power just fine."

"Mother, please," Eduardus begged. "This is madness, it's the superstitions of ancient witches. _Please_."

"It will make you better." Lyra rapped the pestle on the side of the mortar to shake off the excess bone dust. "Hesper. The spoon and candle."

Hesper rushed to her mother's side, reaching into her apron and fishing out a metal spoon, handing it to her mother. She took the lit candle from Eduardus's bedside table, and waited as Lyra gathered a spoonful of the dry powder and held it over the flame.

"The book calls for the substance to be heated," Lyra explained. "It makes it easier for you to digest."

Hesper put the candle back down and took the mortar and pestle away from Lyra. Before Eduardus could try again to struggle into a sitting position, Lyra flicked her wand in his direction. _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ a jet of light sprang from the tip of her wand and hit Eduardus squarely in the chest, freezing him solid. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Eduardus. When you are better, perhaps you will understand."

Eduardus stared up at his mother as she forced his jaw open with her free hand, and brought the spoon to his mouth. She tilted his head back and pushed the spoon to the back of his mouth, tipping the substance into his throat.

Within seconds, Lyra had released Eduardus of his body-bind curse and ordered Hesper to remove everything they had brought from his room, including the chest of Camellia's remains. "You will ingest the remains of your ancestor three times a day, until I am satisfied that progress of your condition is being made," she said smoothly, wiping her hands on her robes. "You will become stronger than ever with the fuel of Camellia running through your veins. Embrace it."

"Why are you like this?" Eduardus gasped, clutching his throat. His mother's words were ringing in his ears, and his mouth seared with the dry taste of death. "Why would you do this to me?"

"To make you better!" snarled Lyra. "Don't be so ungrateful." She spun on her heel, turning away from Eduardus and slamming the door shut behind her.

He looked to the side of his bed, seeing Alexia Walkin still sitting in her usual spot on the rug, with wide, knowing eyes. "Of course," Eduardus murmured, shaking his head. Alexia was much more intelligent than Lyra would ever believe.

She had picked that book out deliberately, making sure to be reading the part that she would need when she tripped over it. The seed had been planted firmly in her mother's head, making her believe that it was Lyra who had thought of the idea, when it was really Alexia all along.

"You'll be much better now, Eduardus," Alexia tittered. "We can have such fun!"

Whether Alexia really thought the old tradition would help him, or whether she did it for her own strange, unknown purposes—Eduardus didn't know. He only hoped that one dose of his ancestor would improve his health, so that he wouldn't have to go through that torture again.

* * *

1826

Eduardus's eyes flickered open as he heard a high-pitched scream from somewhere within the house. He struggled into a sitting position, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The pocket watch on his bedside table read two in the morning. He furrowed his brow and pulled the bedcovers back to swing his legs out onto the floor. The screaming and howling continued as Eduardus rushed out of his bedroom, not thinking to grab his wand as he ran.

Along the corridor, the door to Phoebe's bedroom was ajar. The screaming had stopped, replaced by a series of gasps and wails.

Eduardus flung the bedroom door fully open and burst into the room. The scene before him was something Eduardus couldn't ever picture; Phoebe was unconscious and limp on the bed, with dark blood streaming from her empty eye sockets; Alexia Walkin was strewn across Phoebe's body, and Lyra held her down, both of her hands clamped around Alexia's neck.

Alexia was thrashing her legs to try and kick her mother off, but she wasn't strong enough. As she started to gradually turn blue, Eduardus ran at Lyra and lunged at her from behind, his fist connecting with the back of her head.

Lyra sprang away from her daughter suddenly and fell to the floor. While she struggled to get her footing, Eduardus shook his little sister desperately, trying to rouse some life back into her. But it was too late—Alexia Walkin was still, breathless, and dead.

"I thought you might get in the way," Lyra hissed, causing Eduardus to spin around to face his mother. She was pointing her wand at him, while Eduardus was unable to defend himself.

"Did you really do that?" Eduardus whispered. "Did you really just kill your _daughter?"_

"She attacked Phoebe!" Lyra exclaimed. "Luckily, she will live—but she attacked to kill! Alexia was _sick,_ Eduardus. She needed to be exterminated."

"She was your daughter, not a household pest!" yelled Eduardus. "You won't get away with this! You'll be sentenced to Azkaban."

Lyra laughed shrilly. "No, I won't," she snarled. "I had such high hopes for you, son. But you've turned out to be such a _failure_ , just like Alexia Walkin. I went to such lengths to rescue you from your consumption, and this is how you repay me?"

"You should have let me die, rather than subject me to that abuse."

"Ungrateful child," Lyra flicked her wand wordlessly, and a jet of red light shot from the tip, hitting Eduardus in the chest.

oOo

Eduardus woke up yet again, though this time to the sensation of water dripping on his face. When he opened his eyes, he was staring up at a steel-grey sky, and he was soaked through with rain. He was laid flat on the stone pavement, in front of a set of heavy iron gates.

He sat up and peered through the gates. _Wool's Orphanage_ , the sign above the door read. His mother had disposed of him outside an orphanage.

When he stood up, he felt something crackling in his pocket. A scrap of paper had been shoved into his pyjamas, with less than a handful of words written on it.

' _It was wrong of you to kill Alexia Walkin, Eduardus. If you are smart, you will live out your days in the Muggle world, and avoid persecution. If I see you again, you_ will _be next.'_ — _Mother._

* * *

 **Written For:**

\- Assignment #11/Arts & Crafts - Task #4: Write about an outdated tradition, belief, etc.

\- Chocolate Frogs/Wilfred the Wistful: Write about someone who is hopeful or wistful about/for something.

\- Gobstones: Silver Stone - Darkness, Accuracy - (dialogue) "Why are you like this?", Power - (dialogue) "Did you really do that?", Technique - (word) Ringing

\- Eagle Day: Marietta Edgecomb - (word) Defend, (emotion) Fear

\- Holmes Mystery Challenge: (dialogue) "Such fun!"

\- Writing Club/Book Club: Governor Dragna - (word) Fear, (word) Power, (flower) Lavender

\- Writing Club/Showtime: Sex Is In The Heel - (dialogue) "Embrace it."

\- Writing Club/Emy's Emporium: Write about hitting rock bottom.

\- Seasonal Challenges/Days of the Year: Best Friends Day - Write a fic for one of your best fanfiction friends (Amber).

\- Seasonal Challenges/Elemental Prompts: (word) Dry

\- 365 Prompts: (item) Candle

 **Word Count:** 2,092


	5. The Ugly Duckling (Hesper)

**Warnings: Goriness, death and suicide.**

Thanks to Bex for Beta-ing!

* * *

 **v**

 **The Ugly Duckling**

 _Hesper Black_

 _Born: 1808, Died: 1852_

 _Parents: Oberon and Lyra Black_

 _Siblings: Licorus, Eduardus Limette, Phoebe, Alexia Walkin_

* * *

1808

Lyra Black's screams rang out through Grimmauld Place as her twins ripped through her womb. The noise caused the portraits on the walls to shake and the House-Elves to cower in their hiding spots.

Two women in high-necked robes stood at Lyra's bed. Magnolia Avery, the younger woman, was Lyra's friend. She clutched Lyra's hand firmly, ignoring the sharp nails that clawed into her skin. Magnolia's mother, Forsythia Avery, was at the foot of the bed, preparing for the twins to burst into the world.

Oberon Black stood in the corner of the room, staying well away from his wife and her condition. He sucked constantly on a pipe, puffing the acrid smoke into the air.

"You may wish to stop that," hissed Forsythia. She spoke to Oberon but didn't look away from Lyra. "The first child is about to be born."

Oberon clicked his tongue, but he covered the pipe and placed it carefully on a nearby table. He stepped slightly closer, though not quite close enough to engage.

Lyra's screams rattled the hangings on the four-poster bed she lay in. She swore and cursed her husband in a stream of barely legible sentences, and finally, the first child rushed into the world. Forsythia clamped the cord of the baby, and Magnolia left Lyra's side, swiftly wrapping the splotchy, red-and-pink, wailing child into a towel and handing it to Oberon. "Your son," she said, and turned back to Lyra.

The second baby didn't quite burst into the world as her brother had—she came in more of a slide. She didn't scream immediately, instead she uttered a series of sobs after Forsythia slapped her lightly on the bottom a few times.

Magnolia wrapped the female twin in another towel after the cord was cut, and turned to hand the second baby to Oberon, but he was already gone.

He had a _son_. He had his _heir_. He didn't need to waste time waiting for the birth of his lesser daughter.

* * *

1815

Hesper crouched at the door to her father's private study, her eye glued to the keyhole. She could just about see the shadow of her brother sat on the rug, while Oberon sat behind the desk. He was talking in a low voice and demonstrating a spell with his wand.

"Hesper Black!" a voice startled Hesper, and she jumped up so quickly that she banged her head on the doorknob. She rubbed the spot with her fingers and blinked back tears.

Hesper's mother stood with her hands on her hips, her swollen pregnant stomach thrust out in front of her. Lyra seemed even more formidable when she was pregnant, and Hesper was mildly glad that Lyra had insisted that this would be her final pregnancy. It seemed that her mother had been pregnant for all seven years that Hesper had been alive.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I was...I was…" Hesper bit into her bottom lip. "What are they _doing_ in there?"

"Your father is teaching Licorus magic," Lyra explained, looking proud at the thought. "Now, come away from there. Your father will have your hide if he catches you sneaking around his study."

"Why can't _I_ learn magic with Licorus?" Hesper demanded to know. "I was the one to do magic first, after all." She thrust out her chest proudly.

Lyra snatched Hesper by the arm and dragged her away from the study door, all the way down the stairs and into the lounge. When the door to the lounge was shut sharply behind them, Lyra gave Hesper a firm slap on the back of the wrist. "I told you not to mention that again," she hissed. "Your father doesn't know that you performed accidental magic first."

"Why not?" Hesper asked, rubbing her stinging wrist.

"Because it would not bode well for you or Licorus," Lyra continued. "Believe it or not, I have your best interests at heart. Your father would not think Licorus worthy of being heir to the House of Black if he knew that his lesser twin was the one to perform magic first."

"Maybe Licorus _isn't_ worthy," Hesper continued. "Maybe I'm the one who's supposed to be heir."

Lyra straightened up and laughed cruelly. "Nonsense, Hesper," she cackled. "Now, stop this talk. You're going to come and help me with Eduardus and Phoebe. When you're old enough, I will teach you some domestic magic."

 _Domestic magic._ Hesper seethed at the thought. Licorus was learning real magic, _important_ magic, with their father. He would become a powerful wizard and get to go to Hogwarts School and become brilliant, but Hesper would be stuck at Grimmauld Place, learning _domestic magic._

Lyra had vaguely promised some time before that she would try to speak to Oberon about allowing Hesper to go to Hogwarts when the time came, but Hesper didn't believe that she would. After all, she was being groomed into a perfect, miniature Lyra, who helped her with all the household tasks she did on the daily, including running around after Phoebe and Eduardus and trying to keep the men of the house happy. It didn't seem likely that her mother would give that up for Hesper to go to Hogwarts.

* * *

1819

Two birds flew into the dining room, each clutching a thick parchment envelope in their beak. One was dropped into Licorus's breakfast plate, and the other onto Hesper's lap.

 _Miss Hesper Black_

 _12 Grimmauld Place_

Before Hesper could finish reading the address on the letter, it was snatched away from her by Oberon. "You won't be needing that." He tore it in half promptly, and threw the pieces onto the fire. "Young ladies don't need education."

Even though Hesper had known for some time that she wouldn't be going to Hogwarts, the action still pained her. That letter had been her one hope of getting out of this miserable house, and joining Licorus in learning magic. Nobody seemed to notice that her eyes were prickling with unshed tears while Licorus tore into his own letter excitedly, or the lump that formed in her throat when Lyra and Oberon promised to take him to London to buy his supplies the next day.

As Licorus gushed over his letter and paid no mind to his twin, Hesper stood up from the table, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor. She turned on her heel and ran from the dining room, not waiting to be excused by her mother or father, and shut herself in her bedroom. Only when the door was closed firmly behind her did she allow the tears to fall.

She cried and cried and cried, leaning against the door and hugging her knees to her chest. It wasn't _fair_. Everyone else in the family was a child of Lyra and Oberon, but it seemed to Hesper that she was treated like a servant. Phoebe was seven now, and Lyra didn't expect _her_ to do household chores and clean up after the baby. When Hesper had dared to question her mother on that, Lyra insisted that Phoebe was too young to be doing that kind of work. As if she'd forgotten how old Hesper had been when Lyra started to train her to be a slave to the family.

Licorus was held aloft by their father, and Eduardus, as the next son, would always follow in suit. They both sat in Oberon's office now to have lessons. Alexia was a baby, so Hesper couldn't really blame her for the attention she was given by their mother and all the cousins and aunts and uncles that came to visit. But Phoebe, who should have been mothered the same way as Hesper, was treated like a glass doll. Lyra talked about Phoebe and her beauty _all the time_ , picked out lovely dresses for her and brushed her hair out every morning and night religiously, murmuring to Phoebe's reflection in the mirror: "such a pretty girl."

Hesper couldn't remember the last time Lyra had brushed _her_ hair, or taken her to London to buy a nice dress. She would be much more appreciative of such a dress, too. When Lyra had taken Phoebe to a ladies lunch in London with her sister-in-law, Cressida, Phoebe had come back with ugly black stains all over her dress and a rip in the chiffon skirts.

It wasn't _fair._

* * *

1823

It took quite a while, but Hesper had begrudgingly accepted that she would never get to go to Hogwarts.

While Licorus went off to Hogwarts, followed by Eduardus Limette two years later, Hesper busied herself through the day. When she wasn't being given task after mundane task by her mother, she slipped into her father's study while he was at work, and set to reading the tomes and volumes that he kept in ceiling-high shelves around the room. Lyra had eventually taken Hesper into London to buy a wand, so Hesper could finally practice magic in private.

The books Oberon kept surely taught her more than any professor at Hogwarts ever could. When Licorus and Eduardus came back for the holidays, they gushed and chattered about levitating spells and defensive charms and potions that could cure boils and bruises—but they never talked about any of the dark, dangerous things that Hesper had read about.

She made sure to keep the knowledge to herself. If her father ever knew that she had been snooping around his office, she didn't dare imagine what he would do. In front of her parents and siblings, she was demure and quiet. She followed her mother's orders and completed her chores, and paid attention to the mindless lessons Lyra taught her about etiquette and dining room cutlery. In private, she drank in the knowledge of her father's grimoires and spellbooks, determined to learn _everything_.

Phoebe was eleven, and it was the day that she would receive her Hogwarts letter. Hesper was slightly gleeful in knowing that she would bear witness to Oberon tearing up Phoebe's letter in front of her, and Phoebe would be destined to years of sitting at home and learning how to be a good wife. The only thing that was a downside to Hesper's glee was knowing that Phoebe would surely be better at being a wife than Hesper ever could.

Hesper was fourteen, so Lyra was already bringing in potential suitors for her. But although they were certainly interested in marrying to the House of Black, their faces usually dropped when they met Hesper. They were expecting an exquisite beauty like Lyra; with porcelain skin and contrasting hair and a willowy body. Hesper was plain, with pasty skin and thin brown hair, with a short, squat figure.

Phoebe was beautiful, like their mother. She was the daughter Lyra _wanted_ to groom to be a good, seasoned wife.

She sat up a little straighter as the speck of an owl outside the window grew closer. Lyra opened the window with a flick of her wrist, and the bird soared in and dropped an envelope in front of Phoebe.

 _Miss Phoebe Black._

Hesper waited for the inevitable argument that would break out when Oberon snatched the letter out of Phoebe's hand, but her father did nothing. He eyed the letter curiously from the other side of the dining table, but didn't speak.

"Go ahead, Phoebe. Open your letter."

Phoebe lunged across the table to grab the letter opener so suddenly that she knocked a jug of pumpkin juice over her nightgown. Again, Lyra flicked her wrist, and the spilled juice sprang back into the jug. She smiled down at Phoebe as she dug the letter opener into the parchment envelope and sliced it open.

Oberon didn't look entirely impressed, but he still said nothing. After drinking the last dregs from his cup, he stood up from his place at the dining table and walked out of the room.

Phoebe read her letter hungrily, her eyes scanning the pages quickly. "I'll take you to London tomorrow, darling," Lyra cooed, rubbing Phoebe's back. "We'll buy all of your school things then."

"Is this some kind of terrible joke?" Hesper asked suddenly. Phoebe's eyes widened, and Lyra frowned.

"Hesper!" snapped Lyra. "Don't spoil Phoebe's day."

"You're letting her go to Hogwarts?" Hesper stood up from her chair, glaring at her mother. "But she's a _girl!_ Young ladies don't _need_ an education, remember?!"

Lyra's arm tightened around Phoebe's shoulders. "Phoebe has shown exceptional magical prowess," she hissed. "She deserves to go to Hogwarts and learn magic."

"I could have shown you magical prowess!" Hesper yelled, so loudly that the air prickled with magic and the candles on the dining table flickered. "But you wouldn't let me!"

From opposite Lyra, eight-year-old Alexia Walkin stabbed her fork into the mahogany dining table, cutting off the argument. Lyra shot her youngest daughter a glare, but didn't chastise her.

It was only Hesper that she chastised.

oOo

When Phoebe went to Hogwarts, Hesper was forced to kiss her goodbye and wish her well on her journey. She seethed with jealousy at Phoebe's brand new robes and trunk that was full of books and a cauldron and everything else she needed for her school year. Lyra and Phoebe left the house early, to travel to London where Phoebe would be collected by the Thestral-driven carriages that would take her to Hogwarts.

When Hesper was left alone with Alexia Walkin, she left her younger sister alone in the lounge and stormed up to her father's study. Her anger flowed through her veins with her magical energy, and when her palm connected with the doorknob, the lock burned and cracked.

She crossed the room and reached for her favourite volume; an ancient, skin-bound grimoire that belonged to her medieval ancestor, Camellia Black. Camellia had been a truly magnificent, formidable witch, and after carefully pouring over every page that she had written in the spellbook, Hesper knew that she wanted nothing more than to take after her ancestor.

She held the grimoire to her chest and glared at her reflection in the mirror above Oberon's desk. She wasn't going to be treated like a servant anymore.

* * *

1826

Her sisters went to waste, and Hesper was in two minds about that.

On one hand, she was gleeful that they no longer had their beauty to hold onto, but on the other, it seemed like _such_ a waste.

It was the first thing she thought, all those months ago, when Alexia had been placed into her child-sized coffin. She had been eleven, but she was short and skinny for her age, and her permanent madness made her seem even more childish. Her face was still and calm—the calmest it had ever been in her eleven years of life—and beautiful. High cheekbones, big eyes, tumbling dark hair. _A waste._

When Phoebe was due to come home for the holidays later in the year, Hesper didn't get to see her. Lyra told her swiftly that she had run away from school and never come home, and refused to say anymore on the matter—at least, until she'd polished off a bottle of sherry one evening, and she dissolved into tears on the floor of the lounge, crying about Phoebe cutting off her hair and dressing like a boy.

The thought made Hesper even more gleeful. She didn't understand why Phoebe would want to do such a thing, but she didn't really care. Phoebe had been the one that Lyra always adored, the beautiful daughter who would amount to something. Now she wasn't here anymore, and she wasn't a daughter anymore. Alexia was long gone.

It was just Hesper.

* * *

1852

The years went by slowly, dragging Hesper through the months like sludge. She spent over a decade trying to better herself, trying to _beautify_ herself.

When she was in her mid-twenties, Lyra didn't help her find a husband. After the truth was revealed that Phoebe had been locked in the attic for three years, and then escaped to live in Muggle London with their disowned brother Eduardus, Lyra stopped caring about how her family appeared to the rest of the world and fell into drink and depression. She drank away her sorrows until she died from alcoholism on her fiftieth birthday

Her family had fallen into disaster. The crazy child was murdered, a son was disowned for the crime. Her beautiful daughter shunned the good looks she had been born with and decided to live out her life as a man, and her oldest son…

Well, no one really knew what the problem was with Licorus. He had been betrothed to a perfect woman, and they had started their family some years ago. But Licorus was rarely home, and never seemed happy when he was.

It was just Hesper. The ugly duckling who never blossomed into a swan, who never managed to find a husband or please her mother.

She cried into the mirror in the bathroom most nights. Some women—like her mother—aged well, like a fine wine. But even though Hesper refrained from smoking or drinking alcohol, her looks only seemed to deteriorate more. She was plumper than ever around the middle now she was in her mid-forties, and her brittle brown hair was greying and wouldn't grow past her shoulders. She loathed her appearance; clawing at her face in her reflection, screaming obscenities at herself, _hating_ what stared back at her in the mirror.

"Why must you do this every night!" Licorus snarled at her on one of the few nights he was actually home. He locked himself in the bathroom with her, standing in front of the door so that she couldn't leave. "Magenta can't sleep with your shrieking, and you're keeping our children up."

"I'm a monster!" Hesper wailed. She drove her fist into the mirror, shattering the glass from the point where her knuckles connected. "I will never look like the rest of you! I'll never be good enough for Mother!"

"Mother is dead!" yelled Licorus, grabbing her wrists. "She's been dead for years, you know that! Why do you still care so much about these trivial things? There are more important things to worry about in this hellish life!"

"Not for me!" Hesper wrenched her hands away from Licorus, and glared back into her fragmented reflection in the mirror.

"You're just like her," Licorus muttered, backing out of the door. "You're just like Alexia. You've gone _mad_."

Hesper remained staring at herself in the broken mirror, long after her twin brother had slammed the door shut behind him. _Alexia_. He'd said she was like Alexia.

Hesper wished she was like Alexia, in looks at least. Through the broken shards of glass, Hesper's reflection was distorted. She could imagine that she had the glittering dark eyes of her younger sister, the strange, sideways smile, and her clear, unblemished skin. She could see Alexia's wasted face, reflected in her own.

And there was a way this imagined reflection could become a reality.

oOo

It took a while to find Alexia's coffin in the mausoleum. After she attacked Phoebe, Lyra had practically disowned her even in death. It was only out of principle that she made sure Alexia's body was put to rest in the family mausoleum, though it was well tucked away.

Hesper passed Lyra's coffin, which had been placed in the centre of the first chamber alone, perched high on top of a platform. Fresh wreaths of flowers had been placed on top of the mahogany coffin. That will have been Oberon—even though they didn't spend much time with each other, Oberon had truly loved his wife, and it will have been his idea to have Lyra memorialised so prominently in the centre of the mausoleum.

Alexia had been shoved to some far corner chamber, where no sconces illuminated the dusty room and the coffins and urns were piled haphazardly, rather than neatly laid out in rows like the more respected family members were. Her coffin had just a small note scratched into the plain wood, rather than an expensive plaque like Lyra's did.

 _Here lies Alexia Walkin Black_

 _1815 - 1826_

Hesper used her wand to carefully navigate the small coffin from the top of a stack, and laid it carefully down in front of her. With another swish of her wand, the wooden lid had cracked and slid to the side. Hesper pushed the lid aside and carefully peeled the embalming wrappings away from Alexia's face.

It had been some twenty-something years since Alexia had been buried, but the dry conditions of the mausoleum, along with the House-Elves excellent embalming skills, kept Alexia's body in almost perfect condition.

Hesper reached for the book that she had brought along with her. It was the skin-bound grimoire that she had taken from her father's study so many years ago, the one that belonged to her ancestor. She carefully flicked through the worn parchment pages until she found the spell she was looking for.

It was dark magic, but Hesper didn't care. This spell provided the recipe for her to change her face to another face, a better face, a more _beautiful_ face.

It wasn't like Alexia needed it anymore. Hesper took a short knife out of the pocket of her robes and held it to Alexia's face. With a careful, precise hand, she began to cut into the side of Alexia's face.

oOo

The spell took all night. Cutting Alexia's face away from her skull had been considerably easy, compared to cutting into Hesper's own face. As soon as she made the first incision, she realised just how painful this task was going to be. She had to work through the pain to keep the incisions neat and accurate. If the nerve endings in her face were damaged, they wouldn't attach to the skin of Alexia's face correctly.

When there was nothing left but blood and flesh on Hesper's face instead of skin, she lay both faces—which now looked like nothing but strange rubber masks—on top of Alexia's coffin lid. She placed the skin of her own face inside the coffin with Alexia's body, and lifted Alexia's face to her skull.

" _Duobus."_ Hesper whispered through her bloody, lipless mouth.

The pain was worse than when she had cut into her face. The flesh and bone of her skull seemed to burn worse than a thousand white-hot knives, the nerves seemed to stretch out of her face like thread-like tendrils, searching for pieces of skin to grasp onto.

They latched onto the skin of Alexia's face, and the fusing process began. The tight, prepubescent skin stretched over Hesper's skull, wrapping around the bridge of her nose and the curves of her cheekbones.

When it finally done, a ringing sound that Hesper hadn't even been aware of stopped in her ears. She sank to the ground, her hands over her face.

It took a while for Hesper to gather the energy to climb to her feet, but when she finally did, she searched avidly for something reflective. Finally, she came to the main chamber of the mausoleum, faced with her mother's large coffin, and the ornate silver plaque that decorated the foot of it.

Hesper crouched slightly so that she could see, and positioned herself in front of the plaque. As her reflection swam into view, she gasped.

It was a miracle. Her skin was tight and clear, her cheekbones high, her lips full and pink. She had the face she'd always dreamed of.

 _It was a miracle._

oOo

It took a week for Hesper to realise that she'd made a terrible mistake.

She didn't dare to show her face around the house, not knowing how they would react to what she had done with her dead sister's remains, so she kept holed up in her bedroom, admiring her new face at every chance she got.

It was during one of her many mirror-gazes that she saw it. A small, black mark, which started beneath her ear and seemed to be growing slowly. After another day, the mark had doubled in size. A couple more, and it covered half of her face.

Hesper thought it looked like dirt at first, but it was more than that. Along with the mark came a rancid smell that she couldn't get out of her nostrils—the rotting, unmistakable scent of death. Then small holes began to erupt across her face, and the skin started to sag and lilt.

When a maggot crawled out of one of the holes on her face, Hesper was at the end of her tether. She uncovered her face, which she had left in the coffin with Alexia. After just a week without correct embalming, the skin had withered and shrunk like burnt paper. She turned back to Camellia's grimoire, desperate for an antidote to her problem.

She hadn't read the spell properly, back when she had been eager to switch faces with her sister.

' _This spell must only be performed using live beings.'_

Hesper clapped a hand to her shrivelled lips, gasping. Her face was becoming unbearably tight. She looked back in the mirror again, crying out in horror as she saw where the skin was beginning to split around the gaping, maggot-leaking holes in her face. She'd made a dreadful, stupid mistake.

No wonder her father refused to let her go to Hogwarts. No wonder her mother always thought so little of her, and expected her to amount to little less than a wife in waiting.

There was no fixing the spell and no way to return her own face to her skull. The death was spreading too her neck and shoulders. It'd spread to the rest of her body soon, and kill her slowly.

A loud knock on her bedroom door made her jump from her thoughts. "Hesper?" shouted her brother from the other side. "It's Licorus. Open the door; what's going on in there?"

Hesper felt the prickle of tears behind her eyeballs, but nothing came. She couldn't even cry anymore. She couldn't face opening the door to Licorus and having to explain what she had done to herself. She didn't want to explain herself to _anyone._

She was dying. It was painful and slow, and she wanted it to be over.

Wishing that she could release the tears that welled up behind her eyes, she waved her wand with a shaking hand and conjured a long length of rope.

"Hesper!"

Hesper tied the noose deftly, throwing her wand on the floor. She had no use for it anymore.

"Open the door, sister!"

She continued to ignore Licorus as she threw the rope over the beam in the ceiling, and dragged a stool over. Carefully, she stood on top of the stool and wrapped the noose around her neck.

"I'm sorry, brother," she whispered softly, and she kicked the stool out from beneath her feet.

 _End_

* * *

 **A.N:** Just so you guys are aware, Phoebe (and her siblings before) didn't travel to Hogwarts via the Hogwarts express because the train didn't come into effect until around 1830.

 **Written For:**

Assignment #6/Herbology Task #4: Write about someone suffering with depression

Halloween Funfair/Costume Party: Marge Simpson Wig - (relationship) Mother & Child, Silver Jewel Mask - (dialogue) "Such a pretty girl."

Writing Club/Showtime: Beautiful Stranger - (relationship) Twins

Writing Club/Lyric Alley: "I want a perfect body."

Writing Club/Film Festival: (object) Nightgown

Seasonal Event/Days of the Year: Frankenstein Friday - Write about someone who feels like a monster.

Seasonal Event/Flowers: Chrysanthemums - (relationship) Mother & Daughter

Seasonal Event/Astronomy: Geminids - (relationship) Twins

Gris-Gris Station: (character) Phoebe Black

 **Word Count:** 4,495


	6. Chaos From Within (Alexia Walkin)

Thanks to Bex for beta-ing!

 **Warnings:** House Elf murder, creepy kid, horror, minor gore

* * *

 **vi  
** **Chaos From Within**

 _Alexia Walkin Black_

 _Born: 1815, Died: 1826_

 _Parents: Oberon and Lyra Black_

 _Siblings: Licorus, Eduardus Limette, Phoebe, Hesper_

* * *

1815

Lyra's final pregnancy was the _worst_.

In fact, she would go as far as to say that no woman could ever have had a pregnancy as bad. From the moment she conceived, it seemed as though the baby wanted nothing more than to corrode Lyra from the inside out. The morning sickness was dire; she couldn't keep any food down, and anything that touched her mouth made her stomach turn.

She knew the morning sickness was normal, but in her past pregnancies, it had subsided by the time she began to show. With this baby, she was sick throughout the entire pregnancy.

When Lyra started to show signs of birth, she panicked. She was only seven months into the pregnancy. It was too early. But deep down, she was secretly delighted. _She was finally going to get this demon out of her._

Lyra's friend and midwife, Magnolia Avery, arrived quickly. The years of assisting Lyra with her pregnancies had been good to Magnolia—she wasn't the apprehensive training medic that she used to be, and no longer needed to be shadowed by her expert mother, Forsythia. Despite the short notice, Magnolia arrived with her dark brown hair neatly scraped into a tight bun, and her black, high-necked robes were smart and sharply pressed. But despite her professionalism, even Magnolia couldn't have prepared for the chaos that ensued.

There was no time to get Lyra up to the bedroom that Lyra usually gave birth to her children in. It hadn't even been prepared for her yet, as Lyra wasn't due to give birth for another two months. Magnolia yelled for the House Elves to bring linen and towels and hot water, whilst using her wand to clear the dining room table of clutter. The House Elves snapped their fingers and magically spread the white sheets over the table, and a bowl of hot water whizzed into the dining room.

Lyra climbed onto the table awkwardly, her breath rasping. She was deathly pale, her dark eyes wide with terror. "This child is going to kill me," she gasped, laying back on the table.

Magnolia pointed at the bowl of water and nodded at a nearby House Elf, who reached into the bowl and squeezed out a damp rag of fabric, before using it to dab at Lyra's sweaty forehead gently. Even in the state she was in, Lyra managed to jerk away and shoot a look of disgust at the Elf.

"Magnolia, I haven't had the servants assist me in childbirth yet," she snarled, glaring at the Elf, who reeled back, bowing her head. "I'm not about to start now."

"Who else do you recommend?" Magnolia snapped. "My mother could not be with us at such short notice. Even if your husband was here, you know he wouldn't be much use."

"Hesper," croaked Lyra. "Where is Hesper?"

"Even if I knew where she was, I wouldn't trust a child with assisting to _deliver a baby,_ " Magnolia flapped her hand. "Especially not with the complications you are having. No, hush now, my friend. The House Elves can help just fine."

Lyra looked as though she was going to complain, but a contraction suddenly rippled through her body, causing her to scream so loud that the candlelight flickered out. Magnolia waved her hand, and the candles soon ignited again.

"The baby is breach," Magnolia murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "I don't think I can deliver it like this." She pressed her hands to Lyra's stomach, trying to force the baby out of it's position, but Lyra howled in response.

"Get this monster out of me!" she screeched, her voice rattling the walls.

"There's no time to relieve your pain," Magnolia shouted over Lyra's screams, as she conjured a thin, sharp tool out of the air. "You cannot birth this baby naturally. I'm going to have to…" her voice trailed away as Lyra's cries drowned her out.

"I don't care!" she sobbed. The House Elf had resumed patting her forehead with the cloth, and Lyra no longer protested. "Just free me from this torment."

Magnolia nodded gravely. Carefully, she bent over Lyra's swollen stomach, and proceeded to cut straight into the strained white skin on Lyra's underbelly. Blood spurted from the wound, over Magnolia's hands, and Lyra screamed into the night.

oOo

It was hours later when Lyra's baby was free of her womb, and Magnolia wrapped the bloody child in a towel before handing her to Lyra. "Another girl," Magnolia announced. "Though, consider handing the child to the House Elves to look after. You have lost a lot of blood, and you need your rest."

Lyra laid in the bed, stick-thin apart from her stomach, which was still swollen from the pregnancy. She was grey-white, with deep bags under her eyes, and her hair was thin. All of her other pregnancies had made her radiate life and energy. This child had only sucked the essence straight out of Lyra.

"What have you done to me?" Lyra murmured to the bundle.

"What will you name her?" asked Magnolia.

Lyra gestured to the House Elf with a beckoned finger. "Alexia Walkin," she answered quietly. "After my great-grandmother." She passed the child into the arms of the House Elf, who scurried out of the room.

"Perhaps you're changing your ways," Magnolia observed. "This will be the first time you have allowed a House Elf to look after your child so soon after birthing."

"I do not want that creature near me," scathed Lyra. "There is something wrong with her. There has always been something wrong with her, ever since she was conceived in the womb. I've always known it, and now, since she tried to kill me with her entrance to the world, I'm even more convinced."

"Lyra…" started Magnolia, taking a breath.

"She didn't even cry when she was born," Lyra continued. "I haven't heard a sound from her lungs, yet she stared up at me with those empty, dark eyes." Lyra noticeably shivered. "No, no. She is not right."

* * *

1817

Lyra avoided spending time with her toddler as much as she could. The House Elves nannied her from birth, particularly Pippin, who was the Elf who helped deliver Alexia.

Other than the Elves, the only one who showed an interest in Alexia was her older brother, Eduardus. Despite only being five years older than her and still a child himself, he did his best to help the House Elves where he could, and spent time playing with Alexia, even when Lyra tried to stop him.

"Eduardus Limette!" she snapped one day when she found Eduardus and Alexia playing in the old, disused pantry, where the House Elves slept. "What are you doing, squatting down there in the filth?"

"I'm playing with Alexia Walkin, Mother," Eduardus replied quietly. "She isn't causing any harm."

"She isn't causing any harm _yet_." Lyra glared down at her youngest daughter, who smiled strangely and held her arms up to her mother.

"She just wants some company." Eduardus took hold of one of Alexia's chubby fists and waved it at Lyra. This caused Alexia to shriek with laughter.

Lyra grimaced at the noise, and snatched Eduardus by the wrist, dragging him out of the pantry. "She is _evil_ , and she will bring chaos to this house," she hissed, wide-eyed. "Let the House Elves deal with her. Stay _away_ from her, unless you want her to corrupt you."

"Mother!" Eduardus cried, but it was to no avail. Lyra dragged Eduardus away from the pantry and slammed the door, leaving Alexia inside.

As Alexia was lapsed into darkness, her smile wavered. "Eddie," she murmured softly to herself. It was one of the few words she knew, along with "Pippy". She connected Lyra's face with the sudden loss of Eduardus, who she _loved_ to play with.

Frustration filled her little heart, and her big dark eyes filled with tears. Magic prickled the musty air around her, causing her short, fuzzy hair to stand on end and the old jars and pots in the pantry to rattle tenuously. Her small hands were balled into fists, as she opened her mouth and began to wail.

It wasn't long before the handle on the pantry door started to turn, and Alexia thought about her mother's face with all her might. Once the door swung open, she gave such a shriek that seemed to release the magic that was hovering in the air around her. The magic broke away from her person, causing the jars to shatter.

It was the House Elf who came to the door. It was Pippin who had heard Alexia's cries from the other side of the house, and rushed to her aid. It was Pippin who had pushed open the door to comfort her favourite child. And it was Pippin who received the full force of Alexia's deadly accidental magic.

The gust of magic sliced through Pippin like a razorblade. For a moment, Pippin stood stock-still, her round green eyes blinking slowly. Then, her head toppled forward, away from her body, and landed with a thud on the pantry floor. Pippin's headless body, the neck spluttering with blood, crumpled to the ground a moment after.

oOo

Lyra made quick work of cleaning up Alexia's mess. She vanished Pippin's body without a trace, and forbade any of the other House Elves from talking about her.

She knew that Alexia had killed the Elf with magic, and the thought of that chilled her to the bone. That her youngest child, still practically a _baby_ , could kill with such deadly magic, terrified Lyra. She couldn't risk Oberon finding out that Alexia had revealed magic so early, and she didn't want to reveal this phenomenon to anyone else.

There was something dark within Alexia Walkin. Lyra had always known it, and now it had reared its wicked head.

Lyra double checked the pantry, making sure every speck of blood had disappeared from view. When she closed up the pantry and turned around, a toddler standing at her feet made her flinch. "Alexia Walkin," she muttered, tucking her wand up her sleeve. "It's time for bed."

Alexia grinned widely, showing the sporadic baby teeth across her gums. The smile was sinister and didn't meet her eyes. She held up her arms to Lyra, and opened her mouth to talk. _"Mama."_

It went against every ounce of Lyra's nature, but she recognised the threat. Taking a breath, she reached down and picked up her child, for the first time since she had cradled her after giving birth. Alexia nuzzled into her mother happily, and Lyra swallowed.

She would bring chaos to this house.

* * *

 **Written For:**

\- Hogwarts Assignment #6/Religious Education Task #3: Write about a child under five

\- Writing Club/Disney: Sibling Love - Write about a sibling coming to their brother/sister's aid no matter what.

\- Writing Club/Showtime: #16 If I Could Fly - (dialogue) "What have you done to me?"

\- Writing Club/Amber's Attic: #4 Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast, Fall River, Massachusetts: Write about someone causing their parent(s) any sort of pain or distress (bonus)

\- Writing Club/Marvel: #6 Abomination - Word: Monster

\- Seasonal/Days of the Year: 12th October: Moment of Frustration Day: Write about someone screaming with frustration.

\- Seasonal/Elemental: 3. (word) Gentle

\- Galleon Club: (word) blood

\- Monster Mash: List #1/Prompt #12: (word) Wicked

\- Build Your Own Horror Movie: (cliche) A creepy kid

 **Word Count:** 1,799


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